


The Core Remains the Same

by remanth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death, Demon!Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Frottage, M/M, Sex, command, wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel goes back to Earth to mourn Dean but finds something he didn't expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Title for this is taken from The Song Remains the Same because it's perfect.

It was finally over. Metatron was safely locked away in Heaven’s dungeons and Castiel had unlocked the gates of Heaven. Well, not Castiel _himself_ but he’d suggested it. The other angels had taken it for an order and reversed what Metatron had done. All the souls that had been stuck in the veil were slowly being ferried up into Heaven, the place stretching to accommodate each soul’s personal heaven. But one soul was missing, the one soul Castiel dearly wanted to see. He’d waited as long as he could in Heaven, studying each soul as it appeared with a Reaper at its side. But none of them were Dean. And finally, Castiel couldn’t put off visiting anymore. He had to say goodbye because maybe, just maybe, Dean’s soul wasn’t coming here. It seemed ridiculous and Castiel had scoffed away the thought as soon as it came. After everything Dean had gone through, it seemed like the worst kind of injustice that his soul wouldn’t come here. Yet, Heaven was not always filled with justice. Perhaps especially when it should be.

Avoiding the other angels was easy, the work of merely walking quietly past. Castiel had adamantly refused any role that put him in a leadership position. He didn’t want to lead, he didn’t want to be God. He only wanted to be what he was, a single angel who’d put himself in the role of protecting humanity from his brethren. Hannah nodded at him as he left, her eyes full of sympathy. Everyone had heard Metatron’s boasting, had heard that he had killed Dean Winchester. They’d all heard the tremble in Castiel’s voice when he’d revealed his plan and most knew how he felt about Dean. Those that didn’t before Hannah asking him to kill Dean knew at that point. Some still slanted disgusted looks at him. Caring about a _human_ of all things, putting that human above your family and your orders? They didn’t understand nor did they want to. But as long as they left him alone, Castiel didn’t really care.

The door to Heaven that Gadreel had guarded worked both ways, something Castiel was thankful for as he still didn’t have his wings. The stolen grace had given him enough power to fly for a short time but it hadn’t for a long time. Even now, it flickered inside him, nearly on the verge of disappearing. The stolen grace wouldn’t last much longer but Castiel was sure it would wait long enough for a final goodbye. Maybe, somehow, he’d end up here again. Where angels went after they died was something he’d never considered, never thought he’d have to. Even the times he _had_ been killed were blanks, nothing filling the moments between his death and his resurrection. A small part of Castiel hoped that wasn’t what death meant for angels; nothing was rather terrifying.

He nodded cordially at the two angels guarding the doorway back down to Earth. They wore young vessels, both male, and both had wide-eyed, surprised expressions on seeing him. They still let him pass, though, and without conversation. Maybe they understood why he was leaving and where he was going. The trip back down to Earth was the same as the trip to Heaven, a sensation of flying accompanied by a blindingly white light. Castiel stepped down from the square of sand the sigil had been drawn on and nodded again to the two angels guarding the entrance on Earth. They were masquerading as mother and daughter, the younger of the two vessels swinging on one of the swings to one side of the park. His car was still parked neatly in the parking space he’d pulled into, not that long ago.

Climbing into the driver’s seat, Castiel pulled out the cellphone he still couldn’t decide if he liked or not. It seemed an annoyance when he had been used to just speaking telepathically with his brethren. Yet the little device had kept him in contact with Dean and Sam, had brought him a small comfort hearing Dean’s voice and the little smile when he’d make a joke. The sudden thought that he would no longer hear Dean’s voice through the phone made Castiel clear his throat hastily. Crying was still very much new and he didn’t like it much. That was one thing he was sure of. Dialing a number from memory, Castiel waited until the line picked up on the other end.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam’s tired voice came over the line. He sniffed quietly, obviously fighting back tears of his own. “Heaven doing good?”

“Things are slowly returning to normal, yes,” Castiel replied, struggling to keep his voice even. He had no idea how much it would hurt to hear Sam’s voice, to hear the pain in the younger Winchester. “The travels of the souls stuck in the veil is thinning. Most have gone on to their rest.”

“And Dean?” Sam asked after a pointed silence. “Did you see Dean?”

“I looked but I did not see him,” Castiel sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’d wanted to go looking since the moment Metatron had told him Dean was dead. Other things had come up, though, until a few days later. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m coming to the bunker. Since I didn’t see Dean’s soul, I wanted to come down here to... say goodbye.”

“See you soon, then,” Sam murmured, choking off the words. He hung up quickly, though not fast enough for Castiel to not catch the sobs that ripped out of his throat. To be honest, Castiel felt like howling his grief to an uncaring Heaven. Swallowing down the tears and the screams, Castiel turned the car on and drove off. The trip to the bunker was made in silence; he still hadn’t quite gotten used to listening to music while driving. Another thing that reminded him of Dean as he’d always had music playing.

Sam met him at the door to the bunker, wiping at red and swollen eyes. A determination filled his eyes though. Castiel couldn’t find it in him to enquire about that. Just knowing that Dean’s body lay here, cold and silent, pushed everything else from his mind. Though he did pull Sam into a tight hug, letting Sam shudder against the weight of sobs he’d been holding in. They both needed the comfort, Castiel holding on just as tightly as Sam did. Sam pulled away first, wiping at fresh tears before mustering a small smile.

“He’s in my room,” Sam told Castiel, nodding towards the hallway. “Take as long as you need. I’ll wait out here. But how did you know? I couldn’t get through on your phone.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel murmured, patting Sam’s shoulder in a sympathetic gesture. “Metatron told me. He was... gloating about it.”

Sam nodded and Castiel walked away, feeling a curious emptiness overcome him. It almost felt as if someone else’s body was walking through the bunker, someone else’s hand pushing open the door to Sam’s room. Castiel had been steeling himself the whole ride to the bunker to see Dean’s body, reminding himself over and over that Dean’s soul lived on and his body was just a vessel. But none of that mattered as he pushed open the door and his eyes fluttered closed to deny the sight just a few seconds more. He stepped in and closed the door behind him carefully, delaying even more. But then Castiel had to turn and open his eyes, had to show himself the reality.

“Hiya angel,” Dean’s voice said cheerfully. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, studying Castiel with a little smile on his face. His eyes swept up and down Castiel’s body, something they’d done so many times before. Castiel felt warmth steal over him at that; he enjoyed Dean looking. Then a cold shiver replaced the warmth. Everything was wrong here. Everything about Dean and his eyes.

“Dean, what have you done?” Castiel whispered as he wrapped his arms around his stomach. It was a wholly human gesture but one he couldn’t have stopped even if all of creation rode on it. He could see inside Dean, see his soul thanks to his stolen grace. Could see the black smoke and twisting tendrils that once was a white soul so bright it had guided him through Hell. Could see eyes once the green of a shadowed forest turned completely black. “How did this happen?”

“Seems like its an extra gift from the Mark,” Dean replied lazily, standing up and sauntering over to Castiel. Castiel stepped back unconsciously, eyes sweeping over Dean’s eyes and the darkness his soul had become. Dean stopped barely a foot away from Castiel, leaning in as if to kiss him. “What do you say, Cas? Like the new me?”


	2. Command

Castiel forced himself to stop backing up, holding his ground against Dean’s invasion of his space. Studying the other man desperately, Castiel looked for any little bit of Dean’s soul. Surely there had to be some part of the old Dean, _his_ Dean in there? A smile tugged at Dean’s lips as he watched, a somewhat pained and twisted smile. Forcing himself to meet those black eyes, Castiel could see a murky reflection of himself, the tears still on his cheeks and the disbelieving expression in his eyes.

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” Castiel murmured, swallowing hard as Dean stepped even closer. “I didn’t get to the tablet in time, didn’t break Metatron’s power before he killed you.” 

“This isn’t your fault, Cas,” Dean replied, head tilting to the side in mimicry of Castiel. There was nothing sarcastic about it, though, merely a picking up of another’s traits. He snorted quietly and shook his head. “Seems there were one or two things Crowley left out. Either way this happened, whether by my own hand or someone else’s, I was going to become a demon. But I’m still me. Just... upgraded.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” Castiel muttered sarcastically, still caught in Dean’s new eyes. He wanted to look away and didn’t at the same time. Was there any chance it was true? Dean’s soul still existing underneath the twisted thing the Mark had made him into? “Remember, I can see your soul. I don’t see the Righteous Man I pulled from Hell anymore. All that light is gone.” 

“Let me convince you,” Dean murmured, breath feathering over Castiel’s face as he leaned in even closer. They were just a hairsbreadth apart, a slight movement on either side capable of bringing their lips together. His voice had taken on a soft, cajoling tone, so very different from the lazy ease of before. Much more like the Dean Castiel remembered. “I know I can. Let me prove its me, Cas.” 

“Then prove it,” Castiel commanded, a thread of doubt in his voice. He saw as much as felt Dean’s pleased smile. This wasn’t the first time Castiel had used that voice nor was it all that different a situation. “If you really are Dean and not just a twisted abomination, show me.” 

Dean grinned wider before bridging the gap between them, pressing a desperate kiss to Castiel’s lips. It had been too long since they’d done this, too long since the fate of the world and their respective species rode on their shoulders. A small whine came from deep in Castiel’s throat as he wound his arms around Dean’s waist. He barely even noticed when his shoulders hit the wall behind him, Dean pushing him backwards until there was nowhere else to go. One of Dean’s hands fisted in the front of Castiel’s shirt, the fabric straining in his fingers. The other tangled into Castiel’s hair at the back of his head, tipping the other man’s head back at an almost painful angle. That broke their kiss, Castiel letting out a strangled gasp at the sudden move. 

“Starting to believe yet?” Dean asked darkly, a growl in his words. Castiel made a noncommittal noise and shook his head slightly. Dean laughed and tilted his head down, pressing hot kisses along the side of Castiel’s neck. Stopping at his pulse, Dean sucked hard on it until he raised a round red bruise. Castiel moaned as Dean scraped his teeth over the spot, fingers tightening on Dean’s back until his knuckles were white with the strain. 

“Dean,” Castiel whimpered, pulling his head forward out of Dean’s grip with a grimace. Sharp pains told Castiel that some of his hair had pulled out at the root.. “Still not enough. This could be memories that you’re using.” 

“But it’s not,” Dean said, chuckling. “And whether you believe or not, you’re enjoying this. You like my mouth all over you, don’t you Cas?” 

Castiel whimpered again as Dean sucked at the point of his collarbone, exposed by the open buttons on his shirt. It was all so familiar, the steps as easy and comfortable as any time before. Against all the evidence, Castiel really was starting to believe the core of Dean was still there. Or at least convince himself he believed through sheer hope. He slid his hands down Dean’s sides, feeling the familiar contours of muscle before settling on Dean’s hips. Pulling Dean closer, Castiel leaned up and captured his lips again in a desperate kiss. There was no hint of sulfur or brimstone, no flames to burn him as half-formed fanciful thoughts had wondered. It was all Dean, the sharp taste of whiskey and the warmth of his body. 

Dean pulled at Castiel’s shirt, ripping the fabric and dropping the chunk he held to the floor. He took greater care with the trenchcoat, sliding it off the other man’s shoulders with the remains of his shirt. Hands wandered over bared skin, fingers tracing the lines of an old sigil carved into skin for his sake. And further down, fumbling with the belt buckle as Dean tried to undo it without looking. Castiel was no help at all, grinding their hips together as he groaned and gasped into their kiss. Finally, Dean managed to undo the buckle, the button, and the zipper, shoving Castiel’s pants down far enough to wrap his fingers around the other man’s half-hard erection. Stroking slowly, Dean kissed gentler, softer, nibbling at Castiel’s bottom lip before licking back into his mouth. 

While Dean stroked him, Castiel shoved Dean’s overshirt off his shoulders, sighing for the moment it took Dean to remove his hand to shrug out of the shirt. The undershirt followed, Castiel impatient as he yanked it over Dean’s head. There was a mostly-healed cut in the middle of Dean’s chest and flecks of blood surrounding it. Castiel explored it with gentle fingers, knowing how much it hurt to have an angel blade forced into your chest. It was even in nearly the same spot April had stabbed him, so long ago. He wiped the blood away and pressed his fingers to the center of the wound. A white light shone from Castiel’s fingers and the wound healed the rest of the way, not even leaving a scar. 

“See, not totally gone,” Dean whispered, looking down at his now-scar-free torso. “You can’t heal full demons, right? I’m still here.” 

“Yes, you’ve convinced me now,” Castiel laughed, relief and hope flaring in his chest. He kissed Dean on the forehead, almost a benediction. “Now, are you going to finish what you started?” 

“Your wish is my command,” Dean laughed in turn. Cas didn’t fumble at his belt, merely undid it easily. He pulled the belt out of each loop deliberately, sliding his fingers along Dean’s skin above his waistband as he did so. The belt dropped to the floor with a dull clunk, forgotten as adroitly as the clothes already littering the floor. Mimicking what Dean had done earlier, Castiel undid the button and zipper on his jeans, pushing them down around his hips. Dean’s erection was full, pre-come beading at the head. Claiming the lead again, Dean slotted their hips together and wrapped his fingers around both of them. 

Crowding Castiel even closer against the wall, Dean nipped at his neck as he pumped his hand faster over their erections. Every time he reached the heads, he swiped his thumb over the pre-come gathered there and spread it down their shafts. Now, it was quick and desperate, gasps and moans mingling with breathy pleas as both of them fell into the rhythm. Castiel nuzzled into Dean’s neck, sucking and licking at the muscle running up the side. Dean groaned at each mark made, snapping his hips forward to meet Castiel’s with every stroke. At this pace, neither would last long. Within a few strokes, Castiel’s pleas turned to wordless mutters, Dean’s name gasped out between gritted teeth. 

Castiel was the first to orgasm, latching onto the crook of Dean’s neck and biting hard. Dean yelled Castiel’s name as he came, the pain spiking and turning to pleasure deep in his chest. They panted hard as Dean slowed his hand, putting just the barest pressure on their softening erections. He smiled at Castiel, a smile full of love and Castiel couldn’t help but return it. That smile was the last thing he needed, the last bit of proof that Dean, _his_ Dean really was here. He kissed the bite mark he’d made, raising a hand to heal the marks his teeth had left. But Dean stopped him, grabbing his hand and pulling it to his mouth to kiss the palm. 

“Leave it,” Dean said, finally releasing his hold and stepping back. He bent down and grabbed one of the ripped pieces of Castiel’s shirt, carefully wiping Castiel’s stomach clean before attending to his own. “I like having a mark on me that I agreed to.” 

“As you wish,” Castiel replied, pulling his pants back up and redoing them. He did the same for Dean, caressing the skin above Dean’s waistband again when he was done. Leaving their shirts for now, Castiel laid his hand over the vanished wound on Dean’s chest. “I’m glad you’re still here.” 

“Me too, Cas, me too,” Dean nodded and rested his own hand above Castiel’s. “We’ll figure this out, you know. I don’t want to stay a demon.” 

“I know, we always figure something out,” Castiel said, a touch sadly. It seemed like every time they figured out the solution to one problem, another cropped up _due_ to that solution. He could only pray to a God he was fairly sure wasn’t listening that it wouldn’t happen this time. 

“Now I just need to break the news to Sam,” Dean laughed, though worry creased his eyes. Castiel laughed with him and slung an arm around Dean’s waist. 

“He’ll be thrilled you’re alive,” Castiel reassured Dean. “Though I would firmly expect holy water. Sam may not be as easy to convince as I was. And you definitely can’t use the same methods.” 

“No I can’t,” Dean shook his head, laughing even harder. But there was a curious sort of hope in his eyes, the hope of someone who’s finally hit the rocks at the bottom and knows there’s only one way to go now. He wrapped one arm over Castiel’s shoulders, pulling him in tight for a hug for a few moments. “Let’s go convince my brother I still am his brother.” 


	3. Attention

Sam watched Castiel for a few moments, waiting until the door had closed behind the angel before turning away and settling back into the wooden chair he’d been sitting in. A bottle of whiskey and a glass sat in front of him, the bottle just under half full. It had been full when Sam had started drinking after depositing Dean on his bed. Pouring a couple fingers into the glass, Sam drank it down quickly, hissing quietly at the burn. Even after how much he’d drunk, it still felt like fire traveling down his throat. Then again, that could be from the screams that had wracked him.

“I can’t believe this is what it took after all we’ve lived through,” Sam muttered as he stared into his empty glass. His words were starting to slur now, eyelids drooping as the alcohol flooding his system finally started taking hold. “One douchebag angel hopped up on the power from a tablet. Freakin’ sucks.”

Muffled noises from his room caught Sam’s attention and he just shook his head. He wasn’t quite sure what exactly had been going on between him and Dean, just that there was something there. Sounded like Cas was pretty upset. Pouring more whiskey, Sam downed it again and sat back. Since Cas’s grace was burning out, he probably couldn’t bring Dean back. Though there was one person Sam could summon, one person who had caused all this in the first place that could fix it. After taking a swig directly from the bottle, Sam stood up and walked with only a slight stagger to the basement he’d locked Dean in. The remnants of the summoning spell Dean had cast were still there. Crowley was going to fix this if Sam had to tie him up in the dungeon and peel strips of his skin off until he agreed.

Once he was in the basement, it took Sam a few tries to focus on the ingredients in the bowl. He wavered on his feet for a moment before taking a deep breath and forcing the alcohol haze away. Wobbliness would only hamper any dealings with Crowely. Glaring down at the matches he’d pulled from his pocket, Sam lit one and dropped it into the bowl. It flared up, an acrid white smoke billowing above the bowl. Sam wrinkled his nose at it but didn’t show any other visible reaction. The smell of sulfur and brimstone was all-too-familiar now.

“Damn it, Crowley, you did this,” Sam growled as the flames died down. “You are going to fix this.”

He waited there for what felt like an eternity, sorrow and rage and despair coiling in his belly. At times, it felt like the sorrow flooded his throat, choking him. But Sam swallowed it back down, held in the tears and the sobs and the screams and waited. Crowley _was_ going to answer and he _was_ going to fix this. Fix Dean. Minutes ticked by and Sam started pacing in front of the bowl, wondering whether Crowley really was going to show. He’d avoided the summoning spell before, not appearing until several hours later. Maybe he could just not answer to the spell at all. There were things Crowley could do that seemed so far beyond the usual run of demons. Even upper level demons like Alastair.

“Fine, I’ll figure it out myself,” Sam finally muttered when he heard footsteps above him. Apparently Cas had finished with his goodbye. After kicking at the bowl in frustration to send it skidding across the floor dumping out burned bits of herb and plant, Sam headed back upstairs. He ran a hand through his hair tiredly, the alcohol and the events from earlier settling exhaustion deep into his bones. Other than the few minutes he’d been knocked out, Sam hadn’t slept for almost two days now.

Once back upstairs, Sam poured himself another shot of whiskey and drank it down. He heard footsteps coming towards him from the hallway and didn’t bother to turn around, just waved at another seat. Though Sam didn’t get up to get another glass. After peanut butter had tasted like molecules for the angel, Sam was pretty sure Cas wasn’t going to want a drink. But an odd cadence to those footsteps caught at his ear and Sam turned to look. At first, he thought he was more drunk that he’d believed and seeing what he wanted to see. Then, black eyes caught his entire attention as Sam’s mouth dropped open.

“Heya Sammy,” Dean said, offering Sam a sheepish smile as he and Cas stopped at the edge of the table. He had an arm draped over Cas’s shoulders while Cas had wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist. The angel was studying Sam closely, body tensed as if ready to put himself in the middle of any fight. “How you doing?”

“How am I doing?” Sam yelled, stumbling up from his chair and pulling out the demon-killing knife from its holster. “ _How am I doing_? What the hell kind of sick joke is this? My brother’s dead, you black-eyed bastard! _Dead_! Cas, how can you stand there like that with him? Can’t you see it’s not Dean?”

“I can see everything, Sam,” Castiel replied quietly, slanting a sad glance up at Dean. But there was determination there too. He looked odd without a shirt on and his trenchcoat over bare skin. Then again, Dean had put just his overshirt on and hadn’t bothered to button it up. For a moment, Sam wondered what exactly had gone on in his bedroom then shoved it out of his head. It was too dangerous to think of anything but the monster in front of him.

“Come on, Sammy, you think Cas would just be standing here if he didn’t believe I was really me?” Dean asked, stepping towards Sam with one hand outstretched. Sam shook his head and stepped back, pointing the knife towards Dean. “Give me a chance to convince you, man.”

“No,” Sam snapped and lunged towards Dean with the knife aimed at his heart. Dean twisted to the side, grabbing Sam’s arm and flipping him. Sam landed on his back on the floor, Dean on top of him and blocking the punches Sam was throwing at him. The knife had flown out of Sam’s hand as he landed, clattering across the floor to stop against Castiel’s boot. The angel made no move to pick it up, though, merely watched and waited. If Dean went too far, or if Sam managed to get in a position to harm Dean, he was ready to pull the two apart. One blow landed on Dean’s jaw, hard enough to snap his head back. That made him decide to end the fight now. Pinning Sam’s arms to the floor carefully, a grin on his face, Dean waited until Sam stopped struggling to speak.

“Whoa, easy there tiger,” Dean laughed, remembering the last time he’d used that phrase with Sam. Sam just looked up at him, betrayal, anger, and hurt on his face. “Just take a breath, Sammy, and _listen_.”

“Why? All demons lie,” Sam spat back, looking away from Dean. He struggled half-heartedly again, trying to get his arms out of Dean’s grip. Or the monster that looked like Dean, anyway. But he was too strong and Sam’s arm barely moved. “Whatever you are, you aren’t my brother.”

“But that is Dean,” Castiel cut in when Dean looked up at him with a touch of confused desperation in his eyes. They hadn’t worked out how to convince Sam before coming out of the room. Dean had shrugged and said he’d wing it. “I didn’t believe it at first either, Sam, but that is your brother. The Mark of Cain turned him into a demon when Metatron killed him. Look at the wound on his chest. I _healed_ him, Sam, and it’s not possible for an angel to heal a demon. Not all the way like that.”

“He’s got black eyes, Cas,” Sam pleaded with the angel, tilting his head just enough to be able to see Castiel. “It’s not Dean, it can’t be Dean. Not this.”

“Sammy, it is me,” Dean repeated gently. “If I let you up, are you going to attack me again? I kicked your ass all those years ago. I can do it again.”

“Just let me up,” Sam growled, glaring up at Dean and not at all promising to leave him be. Dean just sighed and let go of Sam’s arms, hopping up in case Sam came up swinging. Sam slowly got to his feet, never taking his eyes off Dean. “There’s nothing you can say to convince me you’re Dean. We all know demons have the memories of their meatsuits. Anything you say is just stolen memories. And the tests aren’t going to work now, are they _Dean_?”

Dean flinched at the venom Sam put into his name. He’d never heard it pronounced quite like that, even when they were at their worst and actively throwing punches to hurt each other. Stepping carefully around Sam, keeping his hands visible at all times, Dean moved back to Castiel’s side. He picked up the knife and set it on the table, out of Sam’s reach. Nodding to Castiel, Dean settled into a chair across from the one Sam had jumped out of while Cas perched on the edge of the one next to it.

“Seems we’re at an impasse, then,” Dean said when Sam grudgingly sat down. Castiel eyed Sam with disapproval when the other man poured a double shot into his glass and drank it down. Dean just shrugged. Alcohol definitely could smooth the way here. “You won’t believe anything I say so what can I do to prove it to you?”

“Nothing,” Sam said harshly, slamming his empty glass down on the table. “Cas, how could you let him trick you like this?”

“He’s not tricking me,” Cas explained gently, shaking his head. “I didn’t believe he was Dean any more than you do, Sam. But I can’t heal demons like I can heal humans. And there were... emotions and reactions that could only have come from Dean. Not from a demon. While I see a demon underneath his skin, Dean himself is there too.”

“You did counter all of my moves like we’d been taught,” Sam allowed grudgingly, staring at the black in Dean’s eyes. They hadn’t flickered once, the green gone as if it had never been. It was chilling, looking at those eyes in his brother’s face. Out of all the fates, the gruesome and bloody deaths waiting for them, this was not one Sam ever thought either of them would suffer from. “And you didn’t hurt me when you could have. But that might be you trying to gain my trust.”

“Sammy,” Dean started to say before Sam held up a hand. Dean closed his mouth slowly, words churning over and over in his mind. Words that would never work to convince his little brother that he really was who he said he was.

“No, let me finish,” Sam said when he was sure Dean wouldn’t talk again. “I don’t trust you and I doubt I ever will. At least while you’re a demon. But I do trust Cas. If he says you’re Dean and he trusts you, I’ll go along with it. On one condition.”

“Name it,” Dean said, hope flaring in his chest. He grinned at Castiel then turned the grin on Sam. It was familiar, the same cheeky grin Dean had worn so often before. “What’s your condition?”

“The Blade goes in a safe and stays there,” Sam said determinedly, shaking his head when Dean opened his mouth to argue. “No ifs, ands, or buts. If you want me to stop trying to kill you, or exorcising you since I have the exorcism in my head, you don’t touch the Blade. When you were still you, that thing turned you into a monster. Now that you’re a demon, that’s probably only going to get stronger.”

“Fine,” Dean said after a long silence. He didn’t like the idea of leaving the Blade locked up, of not having it in his hands. Yet, another part of him loathed holding the Blade, the bloodlust and absolute calm that came along with it. “The Blade gets locked.”

Sam sighed quietly hearing that, relaxing just the slightest bit. He wouldn’t let down his guard completely, for all that he trusted Cas. No way that would happen with a demon in the bunker. Even if that demon was Dean. But that still left the question of what to do now. How do they deal with this?

“I think we should start with Crowley,” Dean said suddenly, studying Sam’s face. He knew his brother better than anyone else and could follow the thoughts running through Sam’s head. “He’s the one who set me on this path and knows the most about the Blade other than Cain. I don’t think we’re going to find Cain if he doesn’t want to be found, so it’s gotta be Crowley.”

“Fine,” Sam nodded, running a hand over his face. Exhaustion was tugging at him and he hid a yawn behind his hand. “I tried summoning Crowley earlier. I think he found a way to ignore it or avoid it.”

“Then we’re back to what we’ve always done,” Dean said cheerfully, trying to put a lighter spin on it. “Look at us, Team Free Will back together again. Though slightly modified, of course.”

“We’ll figure it out, Dean,” Castiel said, glancing at Sam who nodded. “You won’t be staying a demon.”

“Not while we’re alive, at least,” Sam added, baring his teeth in a grimace more than a smile. “Let’s get to work.”


End file.
